


Baby It’s Cold Outside

by AngeliqueNothing



Series: Bang! [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Harley Quinn (Comics), Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Alternate Origin Story, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Porn, Can We Kill Guy Yet?, Consenting Adults, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Freeform Past Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel, Harleen Quinzel - Freeform, Harley Quinn - Freeform, Healthy Joker/Harleen Quinzel, I Promise We'll Kill Him Later, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Jarley - Freeform, Jarley Freeform, Joker (DCU) Angst, Joker (DCU) Backstory, Joker (DCU) Has Issues, Joker (DCU) Played by Jared Leto, NSFW, Non-violent Joker, Nonabusive Joker and Harley, Origins, POV Alternating, POV Harleen Quinzel, POV Harley Quinn, POV Johnny Frost, POV Joker (DCU), Physical Abuse, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seriously He's a Douchecanoe, Shameless Smut, Smut, The Joker - Freeform, We Don't Like Guy Kopski, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, Wordcount: Over 10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28939458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeliqueNothing/pseuds/AngeliqueNothing
Summary: Angsty Joker? Check.Annoyed Joker? Check.Loopy Joker? Check!Undecided and confused Joker? Protective Joker? Sure as shit CHECK!Join me down the rabbit hole that is Arkham Asylum and let's see how Harley and Joker's relationship progresses!This is a continuation of the Bang! series, and while it IS helpful to read the first two smut-filled stories, it's not necessarily needed...though it IS strongly requested!
Relationships: Guy Kopski/Harleen Quinzel, Jarley Relationship, Joker (DCU) & Harley Quinn, Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel
Series: Bang! [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080917
Comments: 43
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the characters, blah blah blah.
> 
> As always, please take care of yourself while reading. There are a few parts where we hear what Harley is dealing with at home, but none of it is as explicit as it was in Passengers.

Harlequin couldn’t help skipping down the street after leaving Grin and Bare It. Really, life couldn’t get much better! They’d had _amazing_ sex, Joker seemed to enjoy the thought of _her_ coming out to play (had even looked _gleeful_ at the prospect!) and she’d pilfered a switchblade from his pocket! Really, the only thing that could make today better was a potential mugging where she’d be able to use the fun little blade in her hand. Playing with the blade was like riding a bike, though she did miss the old butterfly knife they’d had once upon a time. So much more fun to flick open and closed, but the switchblade would do for now.

The others let her keep control as she walked down the street, knowing that dusk was coming in fast and the potential to be mistaken for an easy “mark” was heightened. Really, she was practically begging for it with her bright blonde hair in a high ponytail, skipping gayly towards the Metro station a few blocks away. And would you _look_ at _that_?! An arm reached out from a darkened alley, grabbing at her purse! This day really _was_ perfect!

Harlequin gleefully turned towards the arm currently attached to her purse and flicked the switchblade close to the idiot’s throat.

“Is that really polite?” she snarled in the man’s face. Sadly, the would-be mugger quickly let go of her purse, muttered “psycho,” and ran for his life. No fun at _all_! But at least she’d gotten to use the fun little blade!

Placing the now closed switchblade in her purse, she returned operation of their body over to the others once she’d gone through the turnstile to the Metro station.

xxxxxx

Riding the Metro back towards Arkham Asylum where her car was, Harleen used the time to clean off the numerous red streaks Joker’s lipstick had left on her neck and face. It was a crime, really, to have to take the marks off, but it had to look like she’d been at work all day.

Thankfully, by the time she got home, Guy was gone. He’d left a note that he’d be out with the “guys” until late, but she knew he’d be checking the alarm codes to see what time she’d gotten in, even if _he_ was with one of his numerous whores. Really, she’d think this level of paranoia was ridiculous if she hadn’t just had to use several wet wipes to clean _just_ her neck and jaw area!

Showering thoroughly, she made sure to knock her hipbone against the corner of the counter, spreading out Joker's beautiful hickey. She needed to be able to explain everything away, and if Guy had her strip, at least this way she’d be able to explain the mark on her hip.

Guy must have finally grown bored of playing watch dog, she decided a few days later when she’d only seen him in passing. That or he’d finally found a new plaything. Either way, it got him off her back for the time being, and she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

\-----

“Victor, tell me about your wife.” Trying to get Victor Fries to open up was always a challenge, but she needed to understand him. Really though, she knew that she was here to try to understand her own growing feelings for the Joker. It was one thing to fantasize about the intoxicatingly gorgeous man from the television, another entirely to have the world bleed color when he wasn’t around. Every time she’d tried texting him in the last few weeks, he’d been busy; or at least, that’s what Johnny Frost kept telling her, and the world was starting to bleed again.

“The world,” Victor said in his odd-sounding voice, “is white…and void of color without my dearest Nora here to dance.”

The world around him was literally devoid of most color, considering they were in the old sub-basement, the only place structurally sound enough to house Victor’s specialized ice cell. Keeping a patient at subzero temperatures, and _seeing_ said patient without freezing her toes off, was bugger-all hard.

Even knowing that he was speaking in metaphor, she still felt compelled to ask, “I can bring you something colorful if you’d like?”

“Ah, Doctor Quinzel, I can see that you know exactly what I am speaking of,” he said, pointing directly at her chest. “Why play games and act as if you do not see the world hemorrhaging color, even now? I can see the truth in your eyes, Doctor.”

“But why? _WHY_ is the color being sucked out of the world? Why _now_?” Spreading her arms out wide, she can’t help the frustrated sound that escapes her throat.

“Because you have finally found your purpose. The reason you were put on this earth. And without that, without our purpose, we are nothing, and the world fades away until all is filled with whiteness and death.”

Replaying Victor’s words while she walked through the upper halls, she almost missed how excited everyone seemed. The air seemed electrified, as if something momentous had happened. Stopping an orderly in the halls, she was handed a newspaper, and the man rushed on.

“JOKER – CAUGHT!” the headline read, and it seemed as if the air was sucked from her lungs. Rushing to her office, she sank into her office chair and continued reading the article. “After a days-long cat-and-mouse game, our beloved caped crusader has finally managed to capture the infamous super-villain known only as Joker. Though he had been suspiciously quiet of late, Joker showed his true colors when he set off multiple gas bombs at Wayne Tower Monday morning. The bombs seemed to trigger almost immediate side effects of uncontrollable laughter and mania in all those who breathed the air around them. Several more buildings were hit, seemingly at random, but if Joker’s previous exploits are anything to go by, there is a pattern yet unknown to us, designed to sow chaos and fear in our hearts. But our beloved Gotham is resilient, and with the help of the GCPD, Batman was able to apprehend the fiend in an epic showdown just last night. Beaten and bloody, Joker was hauled into GCPD headquarters for questioning before being thrown in a cell at Arkham Asylum. Only someone who is criminally insane, as we know the Joker to be, would find humor in the destruction caused by this latest attack. It is reported that Joker laughed the entire way to Arkham Asylum, almost as if he himself had been afflicted with his own gas bombs!”

Now she knew what had been keeping him so busy as of late, and it seemed as if the Bad Bat had brought him right to her door. Beaten and bloody if the article was to be believed. If that were the case, he’d be in the infirmary. While not easily accessible, the guards tended to adore her, so she might be able to get in and see him, if only briefly.

Putting her head on her desk, Harleen tried to breathe through the excitement and terror of having him so close. She could handle this. She _could_.

xxxxxx

Oh how _fun_ it had been to play with the Bat, and he’d even brought along an _older_ Baby Bat that now wore blue in his costume. How _fascinating_. They grew up so fast, didn’t they? And apparently, part of growing up was getting electrified batons, which _had_ tickled when used.

 _Gods, why is my head so damn loopy?_ he asks himself, lolling his head to the side.

Squinting through the haze of his vision, he gets a good look at the hanging bag and can’t help but chuckle. They’d given him the _good_ stuff this time! Oooooh, and multiple guards stationed around the room! How very sweet that they thought him that dangerous, even while doped up this heavily and chained to the bed. In all fairness, even while stumbling around high as a kite, he could still probably take out a chunk of the guards before being put down. Right now though…right now he was enjoying his high.

At least until he heard a child’s giggle. That couldn’t be right, could it? Sitting up, he scowled, looked at the nearest guard, and asked, “Did you hear that?”

“Fucking shut it, freak!” is yelled back at him.

Placing his finger to his lips, he makes a shhhhh-ing noise and shakes his head sadly at the guard. “That’s not a nice word and shouldn’t be said in front of children.”

“Psycho,” is muttered as the guard moves a little further off, trying to put as much space as possible between them.

Hearing the giggle again, closer this time, Joker whips his head in the direction of the sound but still sees no one. _Fuck, what is happening?_ Was he tripping balls? He knew he was flying high as a kite caught in a storm, but he’d never hallucinated because of the drugs Arkham gave him. Had they tried something new?

Finally, the giggling stopped, and he was able to relax. Maybe sleep would help? He had gone rather hard with the Bat family; maybe he’d knocked his head somewhere in the midst of the fight? Yes, sleep would help, he decided.

\-----

He could hear whispering near the door to the infirmary but chose to keep his eyes closed, feigning sleep.

“I wasn’t here last time he was incarcerated. Is he really _that_ bad? He looks just like everyone else when he sleeps. I mean, heck, he even has fewer tattoos than Justin Bieber!” He has to bury his head in the pillow to stop himself from snorting his amusement at this last comment.

 _Really Doctor? Comparing me to that boy band wannabee twat?_ He’d have to remember to give her shit about that comment when he finally got her alone.

Knowing she’s watching him for any sign of movement, he decides to have a bit of fun. Really, what’s the point of being on strong pain meds if he can’t use them to move his body a bit? Moaning, he buries his head further into the pillow and stretches out his body as long as it can go. Toes pointing, he throws the sheet off, raising his hands above his head, and arches his lower body into the bed.

“Baby, touch me,” he moans breathily into the pillow, trying not to sound amused.

“Oh gosh! Do you think he’s asleep still?” is stage whispered to the guard. “Do you think I could get a closer look? I mean, if he needs human contact, maybe it’s best to try while he’s asleep? He really doesn’t look _that_ dangerous!”

“Please, baby,” he moans, encouraging her on, knowing that she needs contact with his body just as badly as he needs her fingers running down his back.

“Be careful, Doc Quinzel. I dunno if you should, you know?”

“Oh, don’t be a spoilsport, silly! It’ll be fine! He’s asleep and on so many pain meds, he’ll likely stay asleep for a while yet!”

He can’t help smiling into the pillow, knowing it wouldn’t be too hard for the manipulative witch to get what she wanted. And if she wanted to touch him, heavens above help any guard that got in her way. _Gods_ he’d missed her.

He can hear her heels click as she walks towards him slowly, as if she’s trepidatious about getting near _The_ _Joker_. Approaching the bed he’s on, she lightly runs her hands up his bare back, letting her nails scratch lightly into his skin as she goes. One hand stays on his back while the other reaches up to his bicep, letting her fingers play with his skin.

Arching into her hands like a cat, he can’t help the real moan that slips through his lips into the pillow at the feel of her fingers on him. “Please doll-face, _please_ ,” he says just for her, not daring to move his head.

“Shhhh,” she whispers as she runs a hand through his hair, the other still playing with his bicep. He can feel her body shielding his face from the guard at the door and turns his face so that he can see her. “Shhhh,” she repeats, smiling down at him like the cat that ate the canary, continuing to run her hand through his hair like she’s petting him, using the movement to soothe his soul. Really, how was it that simply running her hand through his hair soothing?

“Doc! The others are coming back!” is whispered to her.

Giving her his own robin murdering grin before hiding his face back in the pillow, he feels her flick his ear gently before clicking and clacking her way back to the side of the guard at the door.

“His hair is amazingly green. That color is just so vibrant! How often do you think he has to dye it to get it that color?” she questions the guard in her stage whisper, clearly standing back by the door.

Oh, he was going to get her, alright. She clearly needed to be taught a lesson, this vixen of his. But he couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his face at the way she’d been able to tell him that he brought color to her life and that she was happy to see him, even if it _was_ at Arkham. 

He wondered how many doctors he’d need to go through to finally get to her. It had been quite some time since he’d gotten to terrorize or murder any of the idiot psychiatrists at Arkham, and he could use the fun. But then came solitary, and he’d be less likely to get to her any time soon. Ugh, why was he thinking about the pros and cons of _hurting_ people?! There were generally two expressions he loved seeing on people’s faces above anything else. Abject horror and an honest smile. He wanted those smiles from Harley and her various personas but abject horror from everyone else. Maybe his head was still loopy from the meds?

He knew she was treating other supervillains from the Injustice League from the dossier he’d had Frost compile, so she should have the clearance to see him. It was just a matter of Jeremiah Arkham letting a _girl_ do a _man’s_ job. He may have silver teeth, but that woman had a silver tongue, and if she really wanted to see him, she’d wrap Arkham around her finger to get to him.

\-----

Sighing, he flipped another card down on the stack in front of him, staring out at the hallway through the wall of glass. He’d been bored for _days_. No one but the guards to bring him food and meds, and they refused to engage with him at all. He knew the time of day based on the schedule of lights and the small window he could see further down the hall if he pressed his face right up against the glass. The only interesting thing to happen since moving to his cell from the infirmary had been the mysterious pack of playing cards he’d woken to on the second day in his cell.

It was almost unsettling, knowing that someone had been that close to him while he slept and he hadn’t stirred at all. He was generally a light sleeper, you never knew when someone would try to stab you while your eyes were closed after all, but he hadn’t woken at all. His nerves were still a bit frayed at the experience, and he’d gone so far as to stop taking the pain pills they were giving him at night, lest they’ve been the culprit for his heavy sleeping.

\-----

More than a week passed in the same fashion. No engagement from the guards, not even the ones on his payroll, and no doctors’ visits. No other mystery packages either, though. He supposed he’d have to take the good with the bad.

As he turned over the last card and was getting ready to shuffle the deck again, his ears perk up at the sound of several pairs of booted feet stomping down the hallway towards his cell. He knew Crane and Ivy were in attendance in this same wing, but there were usually only two pairs of feet when they were escorted to their sessions. This sounded more like a platoon of the armored idiots.

As soon as they got to his glass wall, they started yelling orders to stand up, put his hands on the glass where they could be seen, look down at the ground, blah blah blah blah blah. He followed the orders sedately. No sense rushing the fun, especially if it was about to get interesting.

Being roughly put into the straight jacket and buckled in, having the strap tightened _just_ a bit too tight between his legs, he was marched down the hallway with two guards behind him, two in front. Really, you’d think he was Superman, about to rip the roof off of the white house, with the way they were treating him this time around.

When he’s led down to the second floor and to a door with _her_ name on it, the guards pause for a moment before one slams the butt of a rifle into his gut, making him double over. Really, you’d think he’d already been causing trouble with the way the guards were acting today!

The rifle-wielding idiot guard leans over his ear and whispers, “We don’t want no trouble from you, freak. You fuck with Doc Quinzel, we fuck with you. Got it?”

Straightening up, he bares his teeth in a semblance of a smile before exclaiming, “Oh, got it, _got it_!”

Walking into the room, he can see the back of her head tilted to the side, clearly listening to the sounds of his shuffling feet, but he’s disappointed in the repressed creature he sees before him. Hair pinned ruthlessly back and straightened within an inch of its life, plain black slacks and her pristine white doctor’s coat. But the heels, those heels are her personality trying to shine through. Tall, shiny, pointy black, and he can see the glorious red bottoms of the heels. She looks like she could stab a man’s eye out with those heels, and he can’t help the coy smile that stretches across his lips when he finally gets a full-frontal view of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like it was important to separate Harlequin’s section from the Harleen/Harley section as, though she’s part of the Harl group, she’s kind of excluded and only used for specific purposes at this point.


	2. Chapter 2

She’d been fighting tooth and nail since Joker had arrived in the infirmary ward almost three weeks ago to make him her patient. She’d had long, in-depth conversations with Jeremiah Arkham about safety, and how she was already treating multiple supervillains who seemed to be doing well under her care. She knew from the stories that Jeremiah wouldn’t go near Joker after his last stay here, and she snickered every time she thought of them. Joker had also already gone through most of the doctors on staff by this point, so Jeremiah ultimately had very few options.

She’d finally agreed to a panic button in her pocket, two guards outside, and two guards in the room for the first five days of their meetings. She’d eventually convinced Jeremiah to let her treat Joker in her office like her other patients after ten days of good behavior. Still, she could tell he didn’t think she’d ever be able to get Joker up to the third-floor offices. Ten days of no incidents while being treated would far exceed any other time he’d been locked up unless in solitary. She _still_ had no idea how she was going to get him to agree to good behavior, especially because she secretly loved the destruction he could cause.

As he was led into the room, she continued to face forward, not wanting to look too eager in front of the guards or the cameras, though she did make sure to keep her heels fully visible to the door. She knew Jeremiah would be watching her like a hawk, especially the first few days, and didn’t want to give him any ammunition to use against her keeping Joker as her patient. The heels were the best she could do to let J know she was still herself, even if she looked repressed and boring on the outside.

Once J had been seated and his feet chained to the ground, she finally looked at him full in the face. To see him trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey was devastating, but she could see the appeal of having him helpless in front of her.

Looking at the guard that stood behind Joker, she pointed a finger towards the corner by the door where his compatriot stood and told him, “Please stand by the door, I’ll scream if I happen to need you.” Slinking away like a dog that had been beaten, the guard went and stood where she’d pointed.

Biting her lip and not really knowing how to start this conversation with so many ears listening, she said, “It’s so nice to meet you, Mister Joker. My name is Doctor Harleen Quinzel, and I’ll be your psychiatrist for the foreseeable future. I hope that’s acceptable?”

Cocking his head at her, he gave her the classic Joker smile with his mouth open wide, a predatory look coming over his face. She breathed a silent sigh of relief, knowing that he was willing to play along.

“Doc _tor_ Quin _zel,_ huh?” Licking his lips, he leaned back in the chair and simply looked at her. After a few minutes of staring in silence, he finally let out a grunt and said, “I think I can _work_ with that.”

Clapping her hands together loudly to see if the guards would flinch (and by the amusement in his eyes, she can see that it had had the desired effect), she gives him a huge grin. “So, I thought we’d start with basic questions, even though I know you’ve answered a chunk of them a few times already, and we’d go from there. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to get the guards out of the room after five days, and after ten, we can move to my office where I think you’ll be more comfortable.”

“What’s the _catch_ , Doc _tor_?” he asks, leering at her.

Uncrossing and crossing her legs again in her nervousness, she leaned against the table, trying to convey her desperation. “Well,” she started, biting her lip and trying to think of the best way to convey what she needed from him before simply blurting out, “well, you see, we’ll only get to really progress in our _treatment_ if you’re on your best behavior. No incidents of any kind for ten days, and we can treat you like any other patient. Simple!”

Leaning towards her as far as the restraints would allow, he murmured, “Simple, hmm?”

She can hear the guards shifting in their places by the door, clearly made uncomfortable by his movements, slow as they are. The secret part of her that only J seems to see is immensely pleased with their nervousness. She really does have one of the most powerful men in Gotham sitting quietly in front of her, acting almost polite.

“Yep! Easy peasy! Ten days, no incidents!” she chirped in her nervousness. She tries to sit back casually, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“You know, I don’t know if I’ve ever had a doctor offer to treat me like a normal patient, Doc.”

“Well, Mister Joker, you don’t usually let them get that far, if we’re being honest. And honesty _is_ the best policy. Or so I _swear_ I remember hearing from this one guy, Frost. I think he was a weatherman?” she retorted, quirking her lips to the side and putting a finger to her chin as if in contemplation of where she’d heard the name before.

“Hmmmm. I knew a guy named Frost once. Built like a bear but wore the most _atrocious_ ties you’ve ever seen! I believe I killed him for running his mouth off one too many times? Don’t remember, too many faces floating through.” Shrugging, Joker sat back, looking unperturbed, but she can see rage beginning to simmer there. Is it the thought of her talking to another man? Of her talking to Johnny without him? Or something else?

Trying to placate him a bit, she tries to explain without really explaining. “I’m sure your Frost was just looking out for you. Trying to make sure you were as safe as he could make you, you know? I’m sure he had your best interests at heart and didn’t mean to run his mouth off. Sad you had to kill him. Anyone who wears atrocious ties and is remembered for it sounds sweet.”

He gives her one of his genuine chuckles before breaking out into the “Joker” laugh the guards expect. It was honestly amazing seeing him in this environment and realizing how much of what she saw on the news reports was a façade.

Standing, she goes around the table to lean a hip against his side of the table, letting her legs rest against his hip, which has surreptitiously moved to the edge of the chair, and ignores the “Doc” from one of the guards by the door. Leaning towards him, she places her right hand behind her on the table and the other on his shoulder so that the tip of her thumb is _just_ touching the skin of his neck.

She takes a second to stare at the tattooed and scared face in front of her before speaking. “I think this could work, I really do. I’ve booked us appointments twice a week for now, and we can always change it up if needed. Today’s Tuesday, and I’ll see you on Friday if you’re amendable to that?”

She can feel him trying not to lean into her hand, to resist the urge to show any emotion in front of the idiots watching, and it’s hard to keep her hand where it is, just barely touching him. She wants to reassure herself that he’s fine after the fight with Batman, to run her hands up his neck and down his chest. But she knows that’s impossible, and will stay that way until they’re alone.

“ _Please,_ Joker,” she implores him.

“Fine, Doc. Fine. We’ll try it your way for now, but I’m making no promises,” he all but purrs.

Keeping her hand on his shoulder, she stands, letting her thumb rub against his neck as she does so. Getting way closer than would be safe if she were anyone else, she leans down to whisper so only he can hear, “I look forward to day five.”

\-----

Over the next five days, she made sure that Jeremiah received daily reports of Joker’s behavior to show that there were no incidents, and their one other meeting in that time was almost laughable. He’d spun her yarn after yarn about his childhood and abusive father and a circus trip that had been a highlight. She’d read this and many other stories in the ridiculously thick dossiers that Arkham Asylum and the GCPD kept on him. But she frowned and looked horrified, smiled, and laughed where she knew she was expected to, for she knew the guards’ and Jeremiah’s watchful eyes were alert for anything out of the ordinary.

Having to argue doctor-patient confidentiality with Jeremiah had been vastly annoying. But she’d gladly come in on Sunday to do just that as it marked his fifth official day of zero incidents. She understood his argument that anything could happen in these meetings, and they needed an extra set of eyes and ears with the video feeds, but Joker didn’t have super powers like some of the others she treated, and he’d be safely locked in his straightjacket the entire time. And if they could afford Victor Fries and Pamela Isley the right to confidentiality, then they could do no less with Joker.

She’d promised to keep the panic button in her pocket at all times and would scream for the guards at the slightest provocation. Would she really be doing that? Not a fucking chance. But Jeremiah believing her was all she needed.

Guy had been immensely annoyed at her having to go into work on a Sunday and had even insisted he drive her there and back. Clearly, he hadn’t fully believed that she’d needed to go in to argue with Jeremiah, but he’d seemed happy enough with her when she came back out looking harried and exhausted. Poor Guy, not understanding that her only reason for _not_ going to work was now _at_ work!

For their next Tuesday meeting, she made sure to put in a bit of extra effort and wore a matching bra and panty set in his signature purple (even if he might never see it), and made sure to wear a button-down shirt. She had every intention of him at _least_ seeing the bra, what little there _was._ She’d even made sure to wear her highest heels, having caught J staring at them several times over the last two meetings.

She made sure she was early for their meeting, disconnecting the cameras ahead of time after making sure to wave at them, just in case Jeremiah happened to be watching (and he probably _was_ watching her, the pervert). After seven days of having Joker so close and not being able to really touch him, she was _ready_ to feel his skin against hers.

When he was marched to the seat across from her, she stopped the guard from putting the ankle restraints on him, explaining that she wanted her patient to be able to walk around at his leisure during their appointments, especially since he’d had zero instances of violent behavior since starting therapy with her. The guard looked unconvinced but did as she said, and she knew she’d be arguing with Jeremiah later today if the furtive looks the guard gave her the entire walk back outside the room were anything to go by.

As soon as the door clanged closed, she was up and around the table in a heartbeat. She reached for Joker’s face and let her fingers trail across his cheekbones into his hair, unaware of the happy little noises coming from the back of her throat.

“Whatcha doin’ here Mistah J?” she whispers, continuing to run her fingers across what skin she can reach.

“Oh, you know, fight with the Bat family, electric batons, cracked ribs, et cetera. It was either here or Blackgate, and they’ll never send me back there, so here it is,” he replied cheekily.

She’s practically growling in her frustration. “But _why_ J? Why not try to get away? From what I saw on the news, it looked like you _let_ them bring you in!”

Shrugging his shoulders, he looked at her with amusement. “Ahhh, yes, well, my head’s been a bit preoccupied with this particularly vexing blonde of late, and I thought it might be a good idea to get it _checked out_ by a professional.”

“Hmmm, I think I finally understand,” she says as he pushes to his feet to tower over her.

“Get me outta this jacket, baby,” he replies as he turns his back to her, assuming she’ll readily comply. Silly thing, thinking he’s in control.

Gliding one hand across his lower back to the straps, she slides her other hand into his hair. Using the trick Harlequin used when they were together last, she quickly fists her hand in the vibrant green strands of hair and uses them to bow his head back a bit while using the strap between his legs to keep his lower body close to hers.

“I need something from you first, Joker,” she whispers in his ear, licking the outside shell to make it clear what, exactly, she wants.

“Anything you want, Harl,” is practically moaned as his body shivers in anticipation.

Unclenching her fist, she gently rubs the back of his neck, letting him stand straight again, and using the other hand, she quickly unbuckles the strap between his legs. Placing her hands on his hips to steady herself, she stands on tiptoe to kiss the back of his neck and tells him, “Turn around and sit down for me J. We have a… _treatment_ …we think you’ll like.”

He readily complies, even if she _can_ see a frustrated look in his eyes at still being bound. Really, having power over one of Batman’s biggest nemesis is intoxicating. Kneeling in front of him, she runs her hands up his thighs to the waistband of the Arkham issue sweatpants, making him push the chair back and quickly stand, trying to separate from her, a wild look in his eyes.

“No,” is growled. “No, not after what happened last time,” he says, shaking his head vehemently.

Still on her knees, she reaches her hands up to his hips to stop him from backing further away and looks up at him. “This isn’t like last time. _I’m_ in control. We _want_ this, with you. Come and sit back down. Please.” Using the hands on his hips, she steers him back towards the chair and he sits back down at her urging.

Slipping her fingers back under the waistband of the sweats, she runs the back of her knuckles across the skin of his lower abdomen right below where she knows there is a tattoo of a large toothy smile. “We _need_ this, Joker,” she whispers as she stares up at him, pulling his sweats down to free his straining erection. Looking down at him, she slowly licks her lips and places one hand around the thick length of him. She leisurely slides her hand up and down his dick a few times before leaning down and licking the bead of precum on the head. She can feel him shudder with the force it must take not to move his hips the way he needs to, and she rewards him by licking the length of his cock from base to tip before opening her mouth and taking him into her mouth. The feel of the silky skin over his rigid cock against her tongue has her humming in the back of her throat. Gliding her mouth up and down in tandem with her fisted hand, she uses the other hand to stroke and pull at his balls. Gaining a rhythm, she lightly, oh so lightly, uses her teeth to press into his length, letting him know exactly how much power she has in this instance.

The moan that escapes his lips at the feel of her teeth lightly scraping him spurs her on to press just a bit harder for a moment. Really, being in control of the situation was letting her enjoy the feel of him in her mouth. It was nothing like with Guy, who never allowed her even the tiniest bit of control. Using her tongue to lick and suck her way back up his shaft, she peppers kisses along it, letting her hand continue its stroking motion while she pulls his balls into her mouth one at a time. Feeling his balls growing tighter the more she plays with them while stroking his cock, she decides to try something that has Harley cringing in the back of her brain. Looking up at him briefly to see his head thrown back and his mouth open as he tries to gulp down air has even Harley changing her tune and agreeing with what she wants to try.

“I want my name on your lips when you come undone, Joker,” she murmurs against his abdomen as she nips the bit of his Adonis belt that she can reach below his straightjacket. Slowly lowering her mouth back down his dick, she lets the wet heat of her mouth suck him in, earning another moan being torn from his throat. Going at a leisurely pace, she lowers her mouth as far down as it can comfortably go, swallows, and breathing through her nose, continues the downward motion of her mouth. She can hear him murmuring, “oh god, oh god,” from above her as her lips hit the base of his cock, and she can feel him hit the back of her throat. Swallowing convulsively, she takes a moment to let her throat get comfortable with the feel of his length cutting off her airway.

“Baby, oh god, I can’t, please,” is choaked from his throat as his body vibrates with tension. She presses her fingers into his hips, letting her nails dig deep, giving him the pleasure and pain mixture that she knows he wants. Humming, she allows her throat to vibrate around his cock, and he finally juts his hips forwards, growling out, “Harley, oh god baby, _Harley_ ,” as he comes undone under her after only a moment. She can feel his cum hit the back of her throat, and she convulsively swallows, not wanting to waist a drop. His body shakes with the force of his orgasm, his hips lifting off the edge of the chair, his breathing heavy as he tries to breathe through the feel of her taking the full length of him down her throat. She makes sure to lave him with her tongue as she slowly slides her mouth up the length of him, wanting to wring every last drop from him. Once he pops from her mouth, she licks up his length one last time, wanting to feel him shudder a bit more under her ministrations.

Sitting back on her heels, she pulls the sweats back up and lets her hands rest on his thighs as he comes down from his high. Finally looking down at her, he practically slurs, “Harl…that was…di _vine_.” Planting his ass more firmly in the chair, he sits back a bit and uses his head to imperiously gesture at his lap. “Come here, doll.”

Sitting in his lap, she unbuttons her shirt for him and lets him get a good view of the barley existent bra. Making an appreciative humming noise at the sight, he begins to nuzzle her neck, nipping lightly down her clavicles and to the top of her breasts. She lets her hands play with the back of his head and neck, enjoying the feel of his mouth nipping across her chest. But too soon the buzzer on her phone goes off, letting her know that their time is almost up.

Standing, she buttons her shirt back up, straightening her clothing and hair, and after checking that her makeup was still securely in place and not smudged, she used her fingers to indicate that Joker needed to stand as well.

“Best get you buckled back up all right and proper before the guards come back in.”

Obediently, he stands and turns his back to her so that she can buckle the crotch-strap back up. Letting her head rest against his strong, broad back for a moment, she sighs at the thought of this amazing man allowing her to have control. She’s fairly certain he’s never let anyone else take control like this, and she can hardly fathom why _her_. Why was _she_ so special? Guy made sure that she knew she was good for nothing more than the holes she presented him, so why was the _Joker_ , the villainiest villain of Gotham, willing to forego control to the likes of her?

As if he can feel her brain going down a dark path of self-doubt, he turns and quickly captures her mouth with his, almost violent in his demand for her attention.

“No,” is growled against her lips. “When you’re with me, you’re with _me_ , not whoever the fucktwit is that’s gotten into your head. You’re _mine_.” Nipping at her lip, he pushes her against the edge of the table and demands almost angrily, “Do you understand, Harl? You’re _mine_. _All of you_.”

Nodding her head, she repeats the words before he can demand them from her lips, “I’m…we’re yours.”

Stepping back from her and nodding, he sits on his side of the table and uses his head to point her towards her side. Sitting back down on her side of the table, she folds her hands on her lap and bites her lip.

Before the door can open and the guards walk in, she blurts out, “Favorite color?”

Without any hesitation he responds, “Red.” As soon as the word is out of his mouth, he looks at her strangely and, shaking his head, gives her a rueful smile.

Smiling triumphantly for getting something real out of him, she sits back silently, waiting for the guards to come in. As the guards open the door, she begins as if finishing with a conversation already in progress, “I’ll see what I can do about getting the director to agree to letting you out of your straight jacket, but I can’t make any promises Mister Joker. You do have a long history of violence at Arkham, but if you continue to do well with no incidents, I’m sure we can get you out of it in no time.”

Standing from her chair as he stands, she gives him a slight smile and says, “I’ll see you Friday,” while watching him walk away. As soon as he and the guards are out the door, she sits back down and puts her head on the table in front of her, trying to work through her emotions from the past hour.

She wasn’t falling for him…she _wasn’t_. Fuck, was she? She couldn’t be. He claimed to not have emotions, to not care, but he _clearly_ did. If he didn’t care, he would have never tried to back away from her when she’d gotten on her knees in front of him. He would have rammed himself down her throat the way Guy did. But he hadn’t done that. He’d stayed still almost to the bitter end. She didn’t _need_ this! She’d been having fun, glorious sex. Yes, she’d gone back to him for more, but that hadn’t meant she would _keep_ going back. She was in a committed relationship with a man that professed love for her. That she…thought she loved? But now Joker was in here, with her…and she wasn’t sure who the insane one was. She needed him like she needed air, like she needed color, like she needed… _fuck_ , she just _needed_ him.

There was a knock on the door and one of the guards popped his head in inquisitively. She quickly popped up from her chair and her ruminations, trying for her perky self.

“Sorry! He can be… _intense_ , and I was just trying to sort through it all.” Shaking her head, she gave the guard a lopsided smile.


	3. Chapter 3

She’d been fighting with Guy all evening, culminating in new bruises across her shoulder blades and marks on her wrists where he’d tied her too tightly to the bed. Even as she was doing it, she knew that she shouldn’t fight him or the zip ties, but she’d struggled. The wrist marks were her own fault. But thankfully it was cold enough outside to warrant long-sleeved shirts, and she wouldn’t be seeing Joker until Friday, so the worst of the marks should have started the healing process by then.

As soon as she stepped foot into the hospital, the girl at the front desk stopped her to let her know that Jeremiah was looking for her. Of _course_ her day had to start off like this. Of _course_ she couldn’t even be allowed to get to her own office or get coffee before having to trudge over to his wing of the building. She made sure not to gesture with her hands overmuch, but she did fight for the rights of her patient and his ability to be mobile in their meetings. She wanted him out of the jacket and she argued that she’d already made progress. Yes, it wasn’t much – a favorite color and a quirky story about a henchman – but it was more than any other doctor had gotten during his stays within the asylum walls. Because of those truths and his stellar behavior, if he could make it to the ten days, he could have the jacket taken off provided he was chained hand to foot, and she kept the panic button on her at all times throughout his sessions. She readily agreed to the stipulations if it got him out of the jacket.

Feeling energized because of how the conversation had gone, it took her a moment before she realized there was something on her desk. A beautiful single red rose in a thin vase with a note attached. She couldn’t help the ridiculously huge smile that spread across her face at the sight. That smile only grew when she read, “Looking forward to Friday.” Sure, it wasn’t signed, but she knew it was from Joker. Guy hadn’t sent her flowers since their first year together and he’d never think something so simple would be exactly what she’d want. But somehow, J understood her in a way no one ever really had and knew a single _red_ rose would be perfect.

By the time Friday and the magic day ten rolled around, the friction marks on her wrists were almost healed, and only the worst of the bruises on her back were still visible. Thankfully they didn’t have enough time in their sessions for her to get fully unclothed, so she didn’t need to worry about those as much, and with the long sleeves, she could hide any of the leftover marks. She’d made sure to wear a pencil skirt and her stilettos though, knowing those would help to draw J’s attention away from not being able to fully undress her.

As the guards marched him into her office, she gave Joker a genuine smile and exclaimed, “Nice to see you out of the jacket, Mister Joker! I _am_ sorry you’re still required to be chained, but the director _was_ rather insistent.” Gesturing to the couch under the small window of her office, she told him, “if you’d like to have a seat, we can get started once the guards leave.”

Almost as soon as the guards are out the door, she’s unchaining J with a key she’d pilfered earlier in the week and he’s roughly grabbing her by her waist to pull her down on top of him. He attacks her mouth as if he’s starved and it’s the only nourishment that will sustain him, roughly shoving his tongue between her lips. She moans into his mouth at his apparent desperation and moves her legs so that she’s able to straddle him, needing the feel of him just as much as he needs her.

“I never thought I’d miss the use of my hands so much,” he mumbles against her neck as his hands move under her coat and across her back and hips, seeming to roam with no rhyme or reason. After his hands briefly play with her curves, those deft fingers make quick work of the buttons of her shirt and he pulls it open to reveal another barely-there bralette, this time in the vibrant green of his hair. She can tell the sight pleases him as he licks his lips and brings his hands and mouth to her breasts. Arching into him so that he has better access, she can feel his lips moving across the swell of her chest as his index fingers pull the cups of the bra down to reveal her nipples. He pinches the tips between his fingers and lowers his head further to take one pebbled nipple into the wet heat of his mouth. Her body bows at the sensation of his tongue flicking and his teeth nibbling, in tandem with the other hand pinching and pulling and kneading. Little breathy noises are escaping her lips at the sensation’s building in her body already, and she begins to move her hips, grinding down on his already hard cock, trying to get the friction she needs. As she reaches her hands between them to get at the waistband of his sweats, he stops everything to look up at her with a devious smile.

“Not today, doll-face. You were rather… _naughty_ …when I first got here, and I intend to pay you back for that.” Smiling wickedly at the disappointed noise that escapes her, he quickly grabs her waist and flips her so that her back is on the couch and he’s hovering over her, kneeling between her spread legs.

“I think I’d like to see you spread out on a bed at some point, Harl. All that glorious hair left to riot around you, your hands fisting the sheets hard enough we’ll never get the wrinkles out,” is said against her chest as he nuzzles between her breasts.

“I want you spread out beneath me like an offering…and I the benevolent god that will give you everything your heart desires,” is said as he kisses his way down her sternum, across her stomach, working his way downwards towards the line of her skirt, his hands following the same path.

She has to put a hand over her mouth to stop the moans she feels building in her chest at his words and the feel of his tongue skimming over her exposed skin. Suddenly his hands have finished scrunching her skirt up around her hips and his mouth is hovering over panties that are already soaked through.

“How do you smell like spun sugar and delectable things?” he muses out loud, using his nose to tease the edge of her underwear. Suddenly rearing up, he gently raises her hands above her head, briefly entwining their fingers as he tells her with a mock-serious look on his face, “Move the hands and I stop. Understand doll?”

Anything to get him back down below her waist, absolutely anything. As soon as she nods her acceptance of his terms, he travels back down her body, letting his hands trail lightly from her hands down her arms, his fingertips barely skimming her heaving chest before they begin playing with the thin strip of fabric covering her opening. Lightly, far too lightly, he plays with the wet material covering her, his fingers lightly pushing it between her folds, his thumb finding the bundle of nerves at her apex and lightly rubbing.

“Do you taste as delectable as you smell, Harleen?” he queries as he begins to slide the fabric down her hips.

She lifts her hips in supplication as her hands grip the couch cushion above her head so as not to touch him. “Please Joker, _please_ ,” she says in a breathy moan. Was that _her_ voice, pitched low and sounding all desperate?

Giving her what she wants, he wraps his hands around her thighs and uses the flat of his tongue to lick the length of her slit before giving her clit a wet, open-mouthed kiss, flicking his tongue back and forth across the sensitive bud. As his tongue plays with her clit, she can feel his thumb begin to rub up and down her slit, teasing her. As he inserts two fingers into her hot, slick entrance, he uses his teeth to gently pull her clit out, causing her lower body to snap up, rocking against his fingers and mouth. The feel of his teeth scraping against that sensitive but is exquisite torture and straddles the pain and pleasure line they’ve been playing with since the beginning.

Biting down on a fist to keep herself from moaning out loud, she continues to rock her hips in time to his questing tongue and finger fucking. Looking down at him, she’s floored by his single-minded quest for her desire, as if this is all that matters in this moment. Curving his fingers, he manages to hit her g-spot and when her body bows at the intense feeling, he makes sure to hit that spot over and over again. Breathy moans escape around the fist in her mouth and they seem to spur him on. It feels like he’s spelling words out on her clit with the tip of his tongue as his glorious fingers continue to hit that spot inside of her and it’s not long before she’s shattering around him, silently screaming against the fist in her mouth. The world goes white with the force of the orgasm, and after a moment she reaches down to run a hand through his hair.

Looking up at her from the apex of her thighs, he looks like the Cheshire cat with the grin he’s giving her. “Pleased with yourself now, hmmm?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Should I not be, doll?” He meets her eyes for a moment before using the pad of his tongue to swipe from the bottom of her slit up to her clit, making her body bow at the feeling. Making a hmmm noise against her still sensitive clit as if to prove that yes, he really is rather pleased with himself, he looks up at her with that same Cheshire grin, if maybe a bit more feral than before.

Conceding the point, she whispers, “Yes, you really, really should be,” before throwing her head back and covering her eyes with her arms to bask in the afterglow for a moment. Resting his head against her abdomen, she can feel his heavy breaths as he tries to breathe through his own need for pleasure, and she lowers one hand to stroke through his hair. After a moment, he raises up and begins kissing his way back up her abdomen, across her chest, pausing to lick at her carotid before finally making it to her mouth.

Running her hands through his hair, she languidly kisses him back, wrapping her legs around his waist, making sure her wet heat rests right against his erection and her breasts press against his chest. Rocking her hips for a moment, she lets her lips trail across his jaw until she nips at his earlobe before asking, “You _sure_ you _only_ wanna tease me today?”

She can’t tell if it’s a growl or a purr in his throat, but she takes the sound for the win that it is. Pushing her body upwards, she forces him into a sitting position and straddles his hips again. Before he can deny himself any further, she quickly lifts up on her knees a bit and pulls down the front of his sweats before sinking down on him to the hilt. Heavens _above_ , the feel of him filling her up is bliss. She begins to rock her hips, but he quickly takes control and begins to lift his hips up to snap against hers. He grabs an ass cheek in each hand and uses them as hand-holds to fuck her with forceful thrusts. Burying his face in her neck, he moans her name with each thrust, as if she is the lifeblood that now courses through his body. As if she is everything he needs in this moment, and she basks in the glory of it. He quickly finds his release and as he shatters around her, he bites into the junction of her neck and shoulder, staking a clear claim upon her body. The feel of him puncturing her skin in several places, along with his fingers gripping her ass for dear life while still moaning into her neck, has her tipping over the edge with him. She whimpers his name and buries her head in his shoulder as she sees stars.

They sit there for several minutes before she has the strength to look up at the clock on her office wall. Seeing the time, she practically jumps out of his lap and quickly buttons her shirt, pulling her skirt back down and simply toeing off the ruined underwear and sticking them in her purse. Looking at the tiny mirror on her wall, she hurriedly fixes her makeup and by the time she turns back to him, she sees that he’s not only put himself away but also refastened the cuffs around his wrists and ankles.

The guards come in not a moment later and she smiles ruefully at Joker as they march him out.


	4. Chapter 4

The next two weeks went by similarly, though with more talking interspersing the fun than he’d have liked. He let small truths slip through in their conversations and could see that she somehow caught them each time. There was still no fun with the guards as he _was_ trying to keep on his “best behavior” for a change. In return, he’d actually been allowed a few books in his utilitarian cell and continued to get Harley twice a week. But any time they did anything, it was frantic at best and he so wanted to take his time with her.

He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he wanted her on a bed underneath him, spread out like an offering. He wanted to take his time, fucking her for days, falling asleep still tucked tight within her wet heat only to wake up and begin fucking her again. He wanted to see how many positions they could invent over the course of several days, and he wanted to see each of her personalities’ faces when they exploded in bliss. He wanted to find out what made each of them fall over the edge and wanted to hear each of them call out his name as they came.

He couldn’t help ruminating about all of this as he took the stairs from the fourth floor down to her office on the third, one evening. He was practically hard just thinking about her moaning his name. He’d made sure that the majority of the barebones staff on duty tonight were on his payroll as he had a delivery to make, and he didn’t need any alarmed interruptions. He enjoyed these jaunts when he could make them happen and relished the look on Harley’s face even more when he’d come in for their meetings and she’d clearly figured out that the gift was from him. He was looking forward to seeing that smile tomorrow after this latest gift and was thinking about where to put it so that it wouldn’t be overly visible to others when he stepped into her office…and noticed her asleep at her desk, only a small desk light on. Her head was pillowed on her arms, covering reams worth of paperwork strewn across the desk’s surface, computer still on. It looked as if she’d fallen asleep mid-note. The glasses she seldom wore were askew, her hair taken out of its ruthless pinning and messy as if she’d been running her hands through it.

Walking up to the chair, he gently took her glasses off and trailed his fingers through her messy blonde locks, needing to touch her while her guard was down but not wanting to wake her. He could play with the riot of her hair for days and be happy. And wasn’t _that_ a disturbing thought?

Having fallen asleep at his desk many times while making plans to rule over Gotham and how to play with the Bat family, he knew what a kink in the neck it would produce in the morning, and for some bizarre reason, he didn’t want that for her. When he whispered her name and she didn’t stir, he gently turned her chair towards him and picked her up in his arms bridal style, taking her to the couch by the window. When he went to lay her down, her hand latched onto his shirt and she nuzzled her head into his neck, mumbling his name.

“Don’t leave, J, _please_ ,” is mumbled in her sleep.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, doll,” is whispered into her hair as he lays on the couch and settles her on top of him. Still not the most comfortable way for her to sleep, but better than at the desk, and she seems happy enough cuddling into his chest, hand already tangled in his hair. He could spend a few hours laying here with her, even if the intimacy of it does actively scare him.

The amount that he needed this fragile amazing creature was perplexing and terrifying in equal measures. He hadn’t given a shit about anyone since his chemical bath, had been downright sociopathic, but somehow this slip of a woman had wormed her way past every barrier and into every bit of his soul. He generally tried to ignore the feelings, staying in the moment when he was with her, but then there were times like this where he could do nothing but think and _reflect_ on it all.

Running his left hand lightly down her back in a soothing gesture with one hand, he uses the other to twirl an errant strand of hair around his finger, trying to simply enjoy the sound of her deep breathing. Because he’s listening to her breathing, he can hear the moment it hitches and changes, her body pressing just a bit closer to his. The hand she’d rested in his hair curls and the pressure of her fingertips change, letting him know she’s beginning to wake up.

Bugger it all, he’d just needed to touch her. He hadn’t meant to wake her up.

But he can feel her lithe body stretch out against his, and the face that had been buried in his chest moves slowly toward his neck as if she’s worried about waking _him_ up. Curious to see what she’ll do, he closes his eyes and evens out his breathing. She inhales deeply as she buries her face in his neck, as if trying to breathe him in. She lightly kisses the tip of the _all-in_ tattoo as the hand that was in his hair travels south, tracing down his neck, over his shirt and towards the elastic of his pants. When her hand slips in and the tips of her fingers trace the instantly hard length of him, his lower body arches up slightly and her name escapes his lips on a moan. His hand on her back does its own southward expedition, and when he reaches that plump, amazingly firm ass, he uses it to hoist her body up so that he can feel the junction of her thighs rest just _there_. Her hand teasing his dick gets a firmer hold and begins to slide up and down, creating delicious friction.

But it’s not the kind of friction he needs. He needs inside of her, and the feeling grows the more her hand slips up and down.

Before he can say or do anything, he feels the hand fisting him tighten briefly as she moans, “I need you inside of me, Mistah J,” her voice still thick with sleep. Sitting up, she hikes her skirt up the rest of the way so it’s scrunched at her hips and undoes the little ties on each side of her thong, slipping out of it dexterously. She undoes the buttons of her shirt slowly, still half asleep, while beginning a slow rocking motion with her hips. This would be the perfect striptease if she were going this slowly on purpose, but it’s almost better as she clearly has no idea how divine she looks doing this. Throwing her shirt onto the seat across from them, she undoes her bra and throws it in the same general direction before running her hands up his shirt. “Off” is barely more than a growl and it spurs him into action.

Sitting up, he readjusts her in his lap so that she can straddle him as he pulls his shirt off and throws it towards the chair. She immediately leans down and begins kissing across his chest, starting with the laughter on the left and moving over towards the jester, her hands playing with the wording and smile on his chest and abdomen. When she leans away to get a good look at the ink on his body, he swoops in to capture her mouth with his, hands digging into her ribcage.

Still playing with the ink across his body, she whispers against his lips, “ _Goodness,_ I’ve missed these.”

Nipping her lip to get her attention, he growls, and in one swift move rolls them over, pressing her into the cushions of the couch with the length of his body, her legs firmly locked around his hips. He enjoys the squeak of surprise that the move causes and lightly pulls down on her plump lower lip with his teeth while she gently runs her fingers over the neck tattoo. Reaching down, he pushes his pants down to his knees and raises up on his arms, needing to see her spread out beneath him.

The sight is absolutely glorious. Her hair is haloed around her head, her nipples a dusky pink and hard as rocks, practically begging for his attention, and even with her legs still wrapped around his waist, he can see the muscles of her abdomen shaking with each unsteady breath she takes.

“I’m gonna enjoy taking my time with you baby,” is practically growled, eliciting a moan from Harley’s throat. Tapping one leg with a finger, he whispers, “Legs against the couch Harley, there’s no rush this time ‘round, we’ve got until guard change.” This time she whimpers, clearly needing to feel him filling her up, and he can feel that noise stroking his ego as if it were her long fingers. As she obeys, he leans down to gently kiss her, letting her feel how proud he is of her.

Using the head of his penis, he strokes just the outside of her folds, making sure that every pass slides over her clit. The feel of her wet cunt so close is torture, but he wants her at a fever pitch before he seats himself fully in her. He can already feel her body beginning to tremble at the sensation of him stroking her wet opening and he’s not sure who will reach that fever pitch first at the rate he can feel his balls tightening. As he leans back down to languidly kiss her, she takes advantage of the shift in position to raise her hips on his next swipe across her pussy and his cock slips into her opening. It’s almost like he has no control over his body as his hips continue their forward momentum until he’s fully seated inside of her.

Determined not to let the minx ruin his plans for taking his time, he pulls slowly out of her until just the head rests inside her opening, pausing there for a moment before sliding back in. The feel of her, hot and slick and ready, has him fighting his body for control. He _will_ take his time and show her that it doesn’t always have to be rough and quick and desperate with them. He’s not sure why, but he needs to show her that he _gives_ a shit, and the only way he can think to do that while they’re in here is by not fucking her quickly like every other time.

Leaning down, he places one elbow on the couch beside her head and uses the other hand to stroke her face as his lower body continues its torturously slow pace of moving in and out of her. He can feel one of her hands splay across the side of his face as the other reaches into stoke his hair while one leg reaches up over his hips. He stops the movement of his hips entirely when he feels her foot pressing into his ass, encouraging him on.

Beginning to move her hips underneath him, she moans into his mouth, “Don’t you need us J? We need _you_ , and we need you to show us how much you need us.” She tries to move her hips underneath him a few more times before leaning up to lick the length of his carotid, as if she can feel it pumping just for her. “Baby, show us just how much you need us,” is growled into his ear.

Placing his forehead against hers, he looks her in the eyes as he begins to move again, allowing himself to snap his hips a bit harder with each thrust though still keeping the pace slow. He can see the personalities flitting behind her eyes, as if each of them wants control, as if each of them needs this as much as he does. Even if she thinks she doesn’t love the slow movements, he can feel her inner walls quickly beginning to tighten around him, showing him that her body is adoring the pace and is getting closer with each stroke. Grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand from his face, he lifts her arm over her head and as he entwines his fingers with hers, his hips begin a punishing rhythm of thrusts. He can hear little mewls being torn from her with each thrust as she continues to stare into his eyes, and at the sounds of her desperate pleasure, he can feel himself getting close.

“Harl,” is little more than a growl rumbled against her mouth.

As if she can feel the unspoken command in the word, she shatters around him, her body bowing under him and her mouth opening as if to scream to the heavens. Before she can make the sound, he covers her mouth with his and sucks the noises into himself. Shaking, he continues thrusting into her as he brutalizes her mouth, hand gripping hers for all he’s worth, trying to fuck her through her orgasm and not let himself finish before she’s done. He can still feel her screaming as her other hand leaves nail indentations in his shoulder, and it’s in that moment that he loses himself. He thrusts into her wet heat once more before his body shudders and he’s moaning his own completion into her mouth, not being able to stop the vocalizations at the pleasure she gives him. He holds himself as tightly against her opening as he can, feeling his hot seed fill her up through his orgasm until his body simply deflates and he drops down heavily on top of her, his head buried in her neck.

 _Fuck_ , how was it that each orgasm he has with her brings some new startling discovery? If she were any other woman, he would have simply fucked her against the couch and as soon as he’d finished, be up and out of the room. Hot doctor or not. But her? This vixen, this minx, this temptress? He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. His body was _relaxed,_ for fucks sake! He could actually feel himself getting drowsy. Only with her did his body seem to fully relax and it’s like a damn lightbulb goes off. He chuckles into her neck as she slides her fingers through his hair, her body latched around him as if she’s unwilling to let go.

Leaning up on his forearms so he’s not completely crushing her, he looks down at her with a sense of wonder. “It was you. The cards were from you.”

Looking at him inquisitively, she gives him a shy smile and nods for a moment before a look of doubt crosses her face. “Was that…was that not okay? I didn’t want to wake you when I brought them. You looked like you were in pain, and I wanted you to be able to sleep off some of it if you could. I thought…I thought it would be okay?” By the time she’s finished, he can see the doubt has washed away that perfect shy smile, and she’s biting her lip as if she’s about to be in trouble and doesn’t know how to handle his potential ire.

Shaking his head, he gives her a crooked grin and runs his thumb over her cheekbone. “They were perfect doll; I just hadn’t put two and two together until now.” Letting himself lean down so their bodies are fully connected again, he kisses his way across her jaw and up to her ear, whispering, “Absolutely perfect, Harl. You’re absolutely perfect.”

He can feel her relax at the words, and he lets himself bury his face back into her neck, his own body relaxing as he breathes in the scents of sex and Harley. For the first time in so very long, he lets his body fully unwind, even knowing that he’s crushing her a bit. Before he realizes it, the feel of her hands stroking his hair and her body latched around his protectively lulls him to sleep.

The next thing he knows, he can hear Harley’s voice in his ear urging him awake, her hands stroking over his neck and back. “I gotta go pee, baby, and you gotta get going before the shift change.”

Grunting, he rolls off of her and lets himself fall the short distance to the floor, laying there for a moment trying to come to full alertness.

“Well, that’s one way of doing it,” she giggles. He can see her sit up and stretch her arms up, and the sight of her lithe body stretched taut has him instantly semi-hard. Sighing, he rubs his hands across his face as he stands up, pulling his pants on and going in search of his shirt, which is _not_ as close to the chair as he’d thought.

When he’s fully dressed, he turns towards her, watching as she hooks her bra and slides on her shirt, trying to smooth the wrinkles out of her scrunched skirt. Smiling, he walks up behind her, and moving her hair to one side, rests his head on her shoulder as he smooths his hands down her sides, splaying them across her stomach. Placing a gentle kiss on her neck, he nuzzles that spot behind her ear that he’s found she likes and whispers, “Until later today, ladies,” before quickly separating from her and slipping out the door.

\-----

For the next week, life settled into a rhythm. This had likely been his longest stay in Arkham, and most assuredly the longest he’d gone without hurting anyone. He was sure Johnny was taking care of everything on the outside while he enjoyed his vacation here, but he was beginning to worry that he was spending more time than strictly healthy with Harley. He’d barely even _growled_ at the guards in the past week! They’d even started talking more freely around him, as if he couldn’t tear their throats out at any moment. What the actual _fuck_?

By the week’s end, he was getting antsy at the feeling of being tamed and so took his chance at causing havoc when he heard one of the guards mention _yet again_ that he’d tried to get _his_ Doc to go out with him. Maybe it hadn’t gone quite as planned. His vision had been red and cloudy instead of razor-sharp like it usually was, but it was still a good reminder to everyone around him why he was considered one of the worst supervillains in Gotham, even if he didn’t happen to have powers.

“Yeah, I _know_ she’s dating that idiot doctor from Gotham General, but we’ve all heard the stories, man. We all know he beats her; I even saw her _limping_ once! She deserves someone to treat her good. I just want to take her out, treat her to a good dinner, you know?”

“Honestly, I’d just kill to see her in more skirts. That ass, man, that _ass_! Every time she bends over, or hell, even just her swaying those luscious hips as she walks past has me wanting to smack her ass and bury myself in her tight cunt. I mean, really, man. I bet my hands could meet if I held on to that tiny waist. I heard one of the nurses gossiping about how she fucked her way through medical school to graduate early. You think she did that here so that she could work with the maximum-security patients?” At this, the guard glances surreptitiously at Joker, as if he’s not _right_ next to them. Continuing to stare ahead as if he’s not paying them the least mind, he continues walking towards the communal showers, letting the guard dig his own grave. “I bet if I offered her special favors or something, I could convince her to at least give me a bj.” At this, the idiot fists his cock through his pants and shakes it at his compatriot.

The idiot is still laughing when J slips his cuffs and throws the vile-speaking one across the hallway. Red has invaded his vision, and he’s snarling as he straddles the guard and begins to slam his fist into the man’s face laughing as he hears bone crunch. He laughs even harder as he hears the other guard squawking into his walkie about needing backup because the _Joker_ has slipped his cuffs, and begins to slam the guard’s head violently into the floor. Sadly, before he can make the man’s head pop, he feels multiple pairs of hands grabbing him to pull him off the unconscious guard. Still oscillating between snarling and cackling, he tries to shake the arms off to get back to the guard on the floor to finish the job, but he can feel an elbow lock around his neck, and the world slowly fades to black.

\-----

Fuck, his ribs hurt and his head felt fuzzy. When he tries to lift his hand to his head, he can feel the strap attaching him to the hospital bed, and when he experimentally moves his feet, he can feel the straps cutting into his ankles as well, though thankfully, they have a bit more slack than the wrists. Squinting his eyes against the blinding light of the infirmary ward, he looks around slowly, trying to figure out how much security they’d given him this time around. There are only two guards by the door, but he’d put good money on there being several more outside. What he does _not_ expect to see is a tiny blonde slumped in a chair by the foot of his bed, sleeping.

As if she can _feel_ his eyes on her, her head slowly raises, and a crease appears between her eyebrows. “So, you wanna tell me what happened?” she queries as she puts her elbow on the edge of the chair and lets her head rest on her closed fist.

“Doesn’t matter Doc, what’s done is done.”

Frustration has this innocent-looking blue-eyed creature growling as she looks at him. “I get it, you’re _The Joker_ , the Clown Prince of Crime, The Harlequin of Hate, The Ace of Knaves, Nemesis of the Knight, blah blah blahdy blah. But…” another growl and he has to hide his smile as he sits up to really look at her. She could be formidable, this creature that is under the thin veneer of respectability, if she just let herself go. Another growl and she throws her hands up as if trying to figure out how to say what’s in her head with ears all around them. That little crease between her eyebrows deepens and there’s a large (really, a _much_ too large) part of him that wants to kiss it away. “But you understand all of the work we’ve put in, all of the privileges, will start from zero and we may not be able to get back to where we were?” She makes it into a question, clearly almost as an afterthought, but he can hear the statement of it in her voice and so does not respond.

At that moment, a nurse comes over to check his vitals and he’s never been happier to see an Arkham nurse than in that moment. Saved by the nurse…who woulda thought?

“I’ll…I’ll see you on Tuesday if they don’t put you in solitary, Mister Joker. I’m glad you’re okay overall,” is all but mumbled in his general direction as she picks up her purse to leave. The nurse slinks away, and it’s at that moment that he realizes Harley is sans white lab coat and is instead in a huge black jacket, which only partially obscures the slinky red dress and sky-high strappy black heels. She has diamonds in her ears and a huge diamond on her left ring finger, and his vision goes as red as the dress for a moment. He reaches with what little slack he has to grab her hand as she walks past and is just barely able to graze her wrist.

Although she pauses, she shakes her head sadly as she whispers, “No, you don’t get an opinion on this,” as if understanding what has gotten his attention, and continues walking towards the door.

As she walks through the door, he feels something shattering in his chest. That’s not right. There’s nothing in his chest left to destroy. Right?

Fuck.

_Right??_


	5. Chapter 5

A week in solitary later, and he’s been able to talk himself back from that ledge. He reasons with himself that he already knew she was with someone from the dossier that Johnny had created; there had just been no mention of it being that serious. Though really, that was his own bloody fault for not guessing. She’d been with him since college, if he remembered correctly, and currently lived with the ponce.

Though he’d finally managed to talk himself down, that didn’t mean there weren’t a few good fits of rage thrown into his time in solitary for good measure. He’d managed to trash the bed almost completely and was in the process of working one of the springs loose to use as a shiv at one point when the guards had raced in to subdue him. From that point on, they’d kept him on a heavy dose of cocktails that allowed him to almost float above his thoughts and reorganize them.

He was okay, he really was.

No fuss, no muss.

It’s not like he’d been getting attached to the broad, she was just a way to keep himself entertained while he was vacationing in Arkham. He hadn’t let himself get caught by the Bat Family on purpose to see her or anything.

Really! What a ridiculous notion! He was a sociopath that mimicked all but humor. He was the Mephistopheles of Mirth!

She hadn’t invaded his soul or anything. Really! Really? Maybe just a smidge, a dash, a peppering.

No!

No!

He didn’t _have_ a soul! Fuck, then what had felt like it was shattering when she’d walked out of the infirmary?

An aneurism? No…shit, that was in the brain.

Had he been having a heart attack?

She hadn’t come to see him once since they’d moved him in here, and he wondered if he’d need to finally begin making breakout plans. If she was unwilling to continue as they had been, then what the fuck was the point?

But the point was that he’d felt _alive_ when he’d been planning this latest escapade, and it all came back to _her_. The thought of her reaction had made the planning more enjoyable. He knew she’d laugh at the joke if she were let in on the secret.

Fear was the mind-killer. Fear was the little-death that brings total obliteration. He would face his fear.

Fuck…what was his fear again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's not losing his shit, he promises!


	6. Chapter 6

She’d been fighting tooth and nail with Jeremiah since the day after she’d left the infirmary. And what a tiring week it had been. She understood that this was a setback, but really, this was his first incident since he’d been admitted. If they took him from her now, he might backslide even further, and really, who _knew_ what the guard had been saying when Joker had attacked him. They could tell from the video feed that the two guards had been talking and the one that now had possible brain damage had been laughing at something and grabbing his crotch when J had clearly growled and flew at the guard. Really, the face he’d made just before he’d attacked the guard had looked like that of an avenging angel sent from on-high to smite those unworthy, and had been _glorious_ …though she’d never say that out loud.

Joker’s attacks in the past had often been premeditated. What was the fun of doing something if there wasn’t a joke behind it, after all? She’d argued with Jeremiah, but in the end, she’d gotten her way, like she knew she would. She’d worn her shortest work-appropriate skirt and a shirt that hugged her chest a bit too tightly, and she’d been able to make Jeremiah give her what she wanted – Joker back as her patient with twice-weekly sessions in her office. He’d agreed to let her take Joker’s straightjacket off during their meetings (as long as she put it back on him at the end of the session) if she signed a piece of paper stating that the hospital was not at fault if she was attacked, maimed and/or killed as a consequence. She’d readily signed, knowing he would never intentionally hurt her.

Life at home was another series of arguments, these a good deal more volatile. Guy had been immensely displeased with her having to rush from their engagement party, though really, she’d tried to explain that a patient had ended up in the infirmary after some kind of altercation and was currently unconscious, but she may have let the word ‘he’ slip out while hurrying through the explanation. She understood Guy’s need for dominance, and as soon as she’d gotten home, she’d been prepared for the worst. The worst hadn’t come immediately, and she’d been pleasantly surprised when he’d welcomed her home, asked her how her patient was doing and handed her a drink.

She should have known better; she really should have. The next thing she’d known, she was waking up tied to the bed and had to spend all weekend like that as Guy reminded her that she was _his_ and that if her patient ended up in the infirmary again, well, good riddance to bad rubbish. When she was with him, she was expected to drop the Doctor from her name and be the future Mrs. Kopski. She’d fought against the bindings again and he’d yelled so vociferously that spittle had flown from his lips. She’d lost some time in there again and had woken to multiple men laughing in the other room along with a stinging cheek, each hole in her body on fire, and several new bruises across her body.

Even as she prepared for her first meeting with J the following Tuesday, she could still barely sit comfortably and had to make sure to wear pants and a long-sleeved shirt, and had even pulled her lab coat down as far as it could go, trying to cover the rub marks. She knew people were aware that her home life wasn’t great, but she didn’t need them knowing _quite_ how bad it was, and she sure as _shit_ didn’t need J finding out. Everyone looked at her differently when they found out how bad it was, and she just…she just couldn’t deal with that look of pity crossing his face, especially because it would likely be followed by disgust at her inability to protect herself.

xxxxxx

He’s been watching her pace around the room, gesturing wildly for the last fifteen minutes as she told him about her childhood, but something had been bothering him, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it yet. He’d convinced her to let Doctor Rekoj (ha!) lead this session, and once they’d begun delving into her childhood, she’d popped up like a jack in the box and started the pacing and gesturing. It almost seemed like she’d forgotten the discomfort she’d shown earlier while sitting as she got into the story.

Suddenly he sees it, what’s been causing the back of his brain to tingle. Her shirtsleeves slide up just a fraction and he can see the marks wringing both wrists. As she turns back to him, he growls with as much force as he can put into his voice, “Harley,” and he can see the shift in persona away from Harleen. Startled at the forced switch, she notices him staring at her wrists, and she begins to shake her head.

“No,” is said with some strength as she continues to shake her head. He can see her try to pass the buck back to Harleen, but then just as unexpectedly, he can see the little-let-out Harlequin force her way through.

“I won't touch unless you want me to, but I need you to take the clothing off,” he says, holding his hands out to the side before running them through his hair, trying to dispel the anger he can feel simmering just under the surface.

There’s no arguing from her as she efficiently strips for him, his brave little Harlequin. She tells him quietly, “They don’t want you to see how bad it is. They…we… _fuck_.” If even Harlequin is nervous about him seeing what’s under the clothing, it must be bad, but he’s determined to tamp down his anger.

Smart girl that she is, she’s even taken off her knickers, but the fact that she felt the need to do so makes his blood boil. He makes a twirling motion with his finger and she does a slow twirl.

“I’m going to come a bit closer, but I still won’t touch, acceptable?”

“You can touch, I…we trust you,” is said as her head ducks down a bit and she bites her lip. _Fuck_. Even _Harlequin_ is stammering.

Moving slowly towards her, she stands as still as a statue as he circles her, getting a better view of the marks strewn the length of her body. He can see various sized handprints, what looks like an imprint of a ring, what look like shallow slice marks right under the crease of her breasts, the bruises across her backside and upper legs make it obvious why she looked uncomfortable sitting earlier, and _oh for fucks sake_ , was that her ponce of a fiancé’s _name_ carved into her lower back?! Reaching his hand out, he lightly traces the name, feeling the scabs that have barely begun to form over the carving. Joker knew he himself was sick, but even _he_ wasn’t _this_ sick. He wanted his name on Harley’s body, yes, but in _ink_ , not carvings. And he wanted it to be her choice, not because he’d forced it on her. This was akin to what Roman or Zsasz did, and they were seriously twisted fucks. Raising a shaking hand to stroke one of the smaller handprints, he whispers, “These aren’t from the fiancé.”

Shaking her head, Harlequin growls, “Not all abuse is perpetrated by men.”

When he finally stepped away from her, she quickly redressed, clearly uncomfortable and needing to be as covered as possible.

Sitting heavily on the couch, he put his head in his hands for a moment before looking up at her. He can see that she’s switched back to Harleen, and the fear of his rejection is clear in her eyes. Why she cares what he thinks about her, he has no idea, but he knows he needs to show her in some way that the last week and the marks across her body mean absolutely nothing. But he’s at a loss. He hasn’t dealt with anyone’s feelings since the acid bath, and hell, those memories are fuzzy at best.

Patting the seat next to him, he quietly stares at her until she slowly walks towards him. Her steps are halting, like she’s dreading what comes next. What _does_ come next, he wonders. When she finally sits down next to him, she’s pressed herself against the far corner, as far as the couch will allow. Knowing this will never fix the broken attitude she currently has towards him, he reaches over to bodily slide her closer to him. So close she might as well be in his lap for how much of her he has pressed against him.

He reaches down and pulls the sleeve of her coat and shirt up to expose the bruises wringing one wrist and she tries to wrench her hands away, still trying to hide from him. Keeping a grip on the hand, he pulls her arm out and up and places a gentle kiss on the inside of the wrist right along the bruises, looking up at her as he does so. He follows the same process with the other wrist though thankfully she doesn’t fight him this time, and never drops eye contact as he kisses the second wrist on the bruising. He can hear her breath falter as he finally looks down and focuses his attention on the marks, running a thumb over the inside of each wrist.

“Tell me why you’re frightened of being in this room right now, Harl,” he tells her, still staring down at her wrists. Maybe if he doesn’t look up, she’ll be more receptive to answering.

“I wasn’t…we…we weren’t strong enough, and…and weakness isn’t attractive,” she stutters.

Aaah, so it’s not _him_ she can’t face in this room. It’s herself and what she considers an inadequacy.

“Fuck doll, these aren’t your fault,” he tells her forcefully while gently rubbing her wrists with his thumbs again. “Abuse is not the fault of the abused; it’s the fault of the _abuser_. You’re stronger than you know. You’re still standing, hmmm?” Letting go of her wrists, he turns her face towards him and, leaning his forehead against hers, runs his hands from her temple through her hair, mussing up the perfectly put-together look she had going on.

As he continues to stroke his hands through her hair, she continues, “They…they won’t let me know what happened. I can see the marks, I’m not blind, but I don’t know what happened. I don’t _know_ …” Gripping his shirt hard enough to leave permanent wrinkles, he can hear her voice crack at the end and knows tears are coming. Fuck, tears make him uncomfortable, but he also knows for most people, they can be cathartic.

As he pulls her into his lap so he can cradle her body against him, she buries her head in his shoulder and shudders. He can feel the wetness at his shoulder begin and can hear the rapid breathing, but she’s quiet as she breaks down. Stroking her hair and back, trying for comforting, he tells her, “What’s done is done, doll, like I told you before. We can’t change the past, but we can learn from it and move on. We are not defined by our pasts.” Trying for levity, he exclaims, “Hell, I treat mine like multiple choice!”

She hiccups and a small giggle escapes, even if he can still feel the tears flowing. Finally looking up at him, she places her forehead against his again and just rests there. Stroking his thumbs across her cheekbones, he whispers, “Harl,” not knowing what else to say. He knows she has to come to him this time, he can’t push it. She’s had more than enough pushing from others as of late, and he won’t add his name to that list.

As if sensing his reluctance, she leans in and kisses him softly, clearly still scared of his rejection but needing the reaffirmation. Using her ribs, one of the only places he hadn’t noticed marks, he pulls her upper body flush against his, or as flush as he can with her legs hanging over the side of his lap at any rate, he deepens the kiss. Kneading her ribcage, he slides his tongue against the seam of her lips, begging for entrance, needing to show her that he’s not disgusted or angry at her about the marks, and needing reaffirmation himself. As their tongues begin to slide against each other, her hands finally travel to his hair, digging in as she loses herself.

When she begins to move as if she’s about to straddle him, he puts a restraining hand on her hips to still her movement while keeping her close with the hand on her ribs.

“We’re almost out of time, Doc,” is whispered against her ear before he kisses his way along her neck and jawline, nibbling lightly as he goes. When she makes a disappointed noise in the back of her throat, he knows that, for the moment at least, they’re okay. He shouldn’t need that noise to feel any form of validation, but he’s finding that he needs the sounds of her needing him more and more.

As he allows the guards to troop him back to his cell, he doesn’t really pay them any attention, lost in thought and the beginnings of a plan on how he would kill the fiancé. He was realizing that the idiot was going to need to die, and die soon. If the marks on her body were any indication, the violence was escalating, and though the fiancé seemed to stay away from her face or any real bodily injury, it only took one accidental head-wound to kill someone. They’re almost to the old ECT room before he realizes that they’re not going to his cell on the other side of the fourth floor. Fuuuuuck. Guard payback was a bitch, and it was his own fault for not paying them any mind. They’ve already got electrified batons out, ready for any trouble (where the hell had they gotten _those_ ), and the hallways are too tiny to take on this many of them all at once. And realistically, even though Harley hadn’t locked him into the straightjacket as tight as it would go, he had no room to maneuver and cause the chaos that would be needed to get out of the situation. He may be suicidal where the Bat Family was concerned, but he had a vested interest in not dying while at Arkham Asylum.

Before they can get to the room, he feels a rough shove to his shoulder and hears one of the guards snarl, “This is for Timmy, you sick fuck. He’s still in the ICU and might be _brain_ dead because of you!” He continues walking, knowing that whatever they give him in the hall is only a prelude to what is about to happen. He’d been lucky this time around, but each of his other stays had included doctors that prescribed ECT without a second thought. He’d even had a few doctors over the years that had relished the idea of being able to hurt _The Joker_ and been gleeful when they’d been able to addle his mind. He may laugh about it out loud when asked and play it off like he _chose_ to play multiple choice with his memories, but in reality, by this point, he honestly had no idea if what he saw in his dreams was some conjuration of his memory or if they were just normal run-of-the-mill dreams.

When they march him into the ECT room, he can see the cowering idiot Jeremiah Arkham hiding in the caged-off area where they kept the stronger meds for this floor, and Joker cackles at the sight. Twat clearly wanted to watch the handiwork he’d signed off on but didn’t have the balls to do it himself or stand within easy biting rang.

The largest orderly of the bunch, a huge bear of a man that would put even poor Johnny to shame, bodily picked him up to slam him down on the padded table, several others grabbing for his legs to strap him down quickly, though he didn’t struggle a stitch. Really, what was the point of struggling at the moment? Maybe this was fate’s way of reminding him that he wasn’t meant for emotions and the ECT would burn the feelings out of him.

He feels the cold jab of the needle in his neck, and as the anesthesia is slipped into his veins, he can hear one of the guards whisper, “Wouldn’t want Doc Quinzel to know what’s happening, now would we freak?” He feels the bite block inserted into his mouth and prepares for the juice to hit his brain.

As the paddles are pressed to his temples, his body goes rigid for a moment before the seizure hits and his body is shaking uncontrollably. He can hear Arkham’s voice behind him bark, “Again!” and the paddles are reapplied to his temples.

He feels weightless, and he can see pictures moving past his closed eyelids. He tries to grasp them as they flit past, but too many ECT treatments over the years have fried those synapses so badly that he only gets glimpses before they fly past him. Finally, he’s thrown into sweet oblivion and the world goes quiet as he lets everything go.


	7. Chapter 7

She knows she shouldn’t have stayed late, she’s going to get it when she goes home, but she needed to see him once more today. She wasn’t entirely sure how their session today had gone so dramatically of left field, but it felt like they’d closed the chasm she’d felt at the beginning of the day, so maybe it had all been worth it? She wasn’t sure if she wanted to talk more or just to see him, but she’d known all day that she’d be staying late to wait for the shift change.

What she does _not_ expect of her evening is to see a practically hysterical Joker talking to the ceiling, gesturing wildly, and cackling at random points in his conversation with the air. What the fuck was happening? He’d completely lost his shit, but he’d been perfectly sane this afternoon.

Quickly opening the door to his cell with her keycard, she rushes in, even knowing that it may not be safe with him in this state. Who knew what a hysterical Joker might do, or if he’d recognize her in this state?

Walking slowly towards him, she whispers, “J?”

It’s almost like she’s opened a jack in the box. He pops up off the bed, rushes to her, and envelops her in a hug that doesn’t feel entirely like him.

“Jeannie!” is exclaimed in her ear, and it takes her a moment to realize that he doesn’t see her but sees someone else entirely. He lets her go, dropping down to the ground so hard the sound of his knees hitting concrete makes her wince, and puts his hands reverently against her stomach, looking up at her as if the sun is shining because of her.

“How is our bean today?” he asks as he strokes her stomach. “I know you keep telling me that it’s a boy, but I swear, I have this gut feeling it’s going to be a girl. I’ve been doing better at my comedy routines, and I’m so close to making it, baby. You and the bean are going to be so proud of me! I’ll make you proud to have Napier as your last name, I swear it.”

Fighting back tears, she forces a wobbly smile and strokes his hair, making happy little noises for him. She knows she needs to play along for his sake, but part of her wants to play this role for herself. Maybe there’s more than a small piece of her that wishes the ring around her finger is from him and that they really could have this moment. She knows it will never happen, but she lets herself live it for a moment.

“I couldn’t be happier, Jack! You already make me so proud, and you’re going to make an _amazing_ father.” Gasping, she places one hand on her stomach and exclaims, “Did you feel that?! I felt the baby kick! Isn’t it too soon for that, though?” He puts the side of his face against her flat stomach and holds his breath, trying to listen. After a moment, he looks up at her in wonder and tells her that he thinks he felt their bean moving around in there.

She can feel the tears rolling down her cheeks at what he must have lost once upon a time and strokes his hair a few more times before slowly lowering herself to her own knees in front of him. Stroking his face, she kisses him with passion and lets herself whisper, “I love you, J.” A truth she knew she’d never be able to tell him while he was in his right mind, but he might be willing to accept in this state.

Convincing him to lay back down in his bed, she strokes his hair and tells him she’ll be in bed soon and repeats one last time that she loves him. Almost the moment his head hits the pillow, he’s out like a light. Clutching her stomach, she tries to breathe slowly as she exits his cell.

Leaving Arkham as quickly as possible, she types a note out to Johnny that she has news and to meet her at Grin and Bare It, and drives directly there. She knows Guy will notice the discrepancy in the mileage, but she’s past caring at this moment, too desperate to fix the pieces of Joker she can see shattering the longer he’s in Arkham.

When she’s met at the front door by a bear of a man (really, how many huge men did Joker _have_ on staff?!), he tells her that Mr. Frost is in the office and asks almost deferentially if she knows where she’s going. She looks him up and down as if he must be stupid and tells him that, of _course_ she knows where the bloody hell to go, heading directly for the office after a short scoff in the poor man’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor poor Joker! Poor poor Harley!


	8. Poor Johnny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Johnny!

Fuck.

Fuck!

Johnny had known tonight was going to be a bad night when he’d woken up this morning. He’d had a sense in his gut, and his wife always told him to follow his gut. It’s how he’d survived this long working for the Joker, after all. Hell, it was the reason J trusted him with the business when he “vacationed” in Arkham for his short stints. But this stay had gone on far longer than Johnny had been expecting, and he was exhausted. He wasn’t a mob boss, he was a damn henchman. But he knew what Joker wanted and knew how to keep his various businesses running.

But, _fuck_. His wife was _not_ going to believe him when he told her about tonight. They both knew Joker had some kind of feelings for the Doctor, but while Johnny had been vehement that the feelings were pure lust-based (really, he liked lying to himself on occasion, let him have his lies damn you), his wife had argued just as vehemently that this was different and that she was worried that J was going down a rabbit hole he wasn’t prepared for.

Damn that woman for being right. Why did she _always_ have to be right?

When he went home later that night, his wife cackled and made sure to give him that “told you so” look, even if she never said anything. She’d laughed uproariously when he’d told her how he’d given the Doc a 3D-printed gun placed inside one of Joker’s stupid stuffed Siamese cat toys, as well as a burner phone to give J in return for a filched keycard that the Doc said she’d stolen off one of the guards before leaving.

That had earned him another “I told you so” look and had cost him five bucks for a bet lost.

Really, he should _know_ not to bet against his wife when she got her own gut feelings, and she’d had a strong one that the Doc would be back and would likely help get Joker out of Arkham with no prompting.

Hell, he was just hoping that she didn’t win the bet about the Doc being a permanent fixture in the near future. He might actually cry if that happened, and really, that bet was worth a bigger house and another kid.

Fuck, he just knew he was gonna be crying soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our poor sweet dear Johnny Frost. Do you feel as bad for him as I did while writing this chapter? he's gonna SUPER owe his wife that bigger house and another kid!


	9. Chapter 9

By the time Friday rolls around, she’s a nervous wreck. Guy had, of course, been waiting up for her when she’d gotten home past midnight after seeing Johnny. She couldn’t really blame Guy for not believing her when she told him she’d been doing last-minute paperwork that Jeremiah had wanted, especially when she’d smelled of smoke and another man’s cologne. How much cologne did men _really_ think they needed to use to go to a strip club, anyway? She’d likely deserved the punch to her diaphragm that had sent her to the floor, but she wasn’t sure the occasion had warranted the kick in the stomach Guy had delivered right after that. Thankfully, that had seemed to appease him for a bit, though Thursday night he’d hit her so hard she’d crashed into one of the side tables and hit her temple on a corner as she’d gone down.

Even with heavy concealer, you could still see the bruise on her temple on Friday, and she hadn’t figured out an easy way of covering it with her hair. She’d had to force herself not to rub at it while she walked through the metal detectors at the staff entrance come Friday as, even with pain killers, her head throbbed.

When she gets to her office, she’s surprised to see a bouquet of flowers on her desk, but the surprise fades as she reads the professions of love and apology from Guy. Quickly crumbling the note, she throws it in the trash and is about to leave to try to pawn the flowers off onto the nurses when Jerimiah walks into her office and closes the door.

Couldn’t she just catch a _break_?!

Clearing his throat as if nervous, he looks her up and down appreciatively before his eyes settle on her chest. “Harleen,” he says to her chest, “I’m sorry to have to tell you, but the Joker had an incident the other night and has had to be restrained since Wednesday. I know you’re adamant about your sessions with him continuing uninterrupted, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that your session, at least for today, take place in your main therapy room, cameras on with Joker restrained. I’m truly worried he poses a threat to you and wouldn’t want one of our brightest young minds taken advantage of.” He clears his throat again, and giving her chest one last lingering look, departs without waiting for a reply. Creepy fucker that he was, he probably just wanted to watch the session and stare at her legs some more.

Putting her head on her desk, she rubs her temples lightly, trying to smooth out the roaring headache she can already feel coming on, and tries to decide what to do for the day. She has patients to see, all culminating in her appointment with J where she has a damn stuffed cat and phone to give him…somehow. Sighing, she stands and is able to convince one of the nurse’s stations on the minimum-security floor to take the flowers, reminding them that she can’t have anything overly personal like that in her office, especially since she treats some of the maximum-security patients.

By the time her appointment with Joker rolls around, she still hasn’t decided what she wants to talk about or how she could possibly bring up the subject of a dead pregnant wife, and the headache is roaring back to life. Not even pain pills are helping, and she’s beginning to wonder if she should have one of the nurses check it out, make sure there’s nothing worse going on.

Sighing, she walks into the appointment room late and simply stares at him from the door for a moment. Even trussed up, he _does_ look better than when she saw him last. Seeing the guard in the room, she raises an eyebrow and sends him scurrying out the doors.

“I have something for you, something that might cheer you up a bit,” she tells him almost as soon as she sits down across from him.

“What’d you got?” he asks her with a slight slur to his voice.

Pulling the little cat toy from her coat pocket, she tells him, “I brought you a kitty,” and makes its head bobble up and down a bit, trying to make it clear for the cameras that there’s nothing sinister about the little thing, it’s just a silly toy. They don’t need to know that there’s a very tiny gun inside or that the burner phone is still in her pocket and waiting to be slipped into his.

He looks at her funny for a moment, as if _she’s_ the crazy one and then decides on a toothy smile. “So thoughtful,” he purrs, leaning back.

As he’s working his way through a diatribe on humanity and the place chaos plays in the universe, she bites her lip and blurts, “Tell me about Jeannie.”

He goes on for another minute as if he hadn’t heard her, but she can see the moment the words filter through to his brain and he stops, cocking his head at her. A low rumble starts in his chest and it has her crossing and recrossing her legs in her nervousness.

“I…One of the guards mentioned that you’d screamed her name in your sleep.” She knows she’s being untruthful, but how would she _know_ that name otherwise?

xxxxxx

When the words finally filter through his still-addled mind, he has no idea how to react. The bored mask that he constantly shows the world drops for a moment, and he can feel hurt and fear creep into his eyes. No one knew that name. Hell, even _he_ barely knew the name! He knew it belonged to his former life as Jack Napier, but past that, the memories of that name always seemed to flit away when he tried to recapture them.

Shaking his head as if to clear it, he settles the mask back in place, knowing that eyes and ears are watching them in this room, and he has _no_ interest in them seeing that he may have a weakness, or a past, for that matter. He lets his mind whir while he simply stares at Harley, giving her the leering grin he knows Jeremiah Arkham is expecting.

He vaguely remembers a woman coming into his cell shortly after the ECT treatment and there being words spoken, but for the life of him, he can’t remember exactly what was said. He remembers something about a baby, being ecstatic, and words of love being whispered. He remembers being out of his mind in pain and a woman stroking his hair.

She looks comically scared by the growl he can feel rattling around his chest. Didn’t he allow the damn ECT to help him get _rid_ of these pesky emotions? He tried to remind himself that he was an idea and not someone to be loved any longer. He’d shed that skin when he’d shed Jack. Right after Jeannie…had died? Had something happened after that?

He can’t _remember_.

He didn’t _want_ these feelings. No one should ever see behind the mask, and somehow the blonde in front of him had.

Baring his teeth at her, he snarls, “I’ve never met a Jeannie, but maybe I killed one once? Was she a friend of yours Doc _tor_ Quin _zel_?” It’s the best he can come up with on such short notice, and he sees the desired flinch. Better to have her afraid of him than to let her get attached. What they’d been playing at was never meant to go on this long; it was meant as a distraction…a bit of _fun_. It was no longer fun.

But then he sees the mark. That vicious little bit of purple at her temple, just under her hairline, and he leans forward as far as he can while being chained to the damn floor. That mark is dangerous, and he can see that it’s causing her pain. _Oh, for fucks sake_ , he didn’t _have_ emotions! But this broad, this femme fatale… _ooooh_ how she brought out something in him.

When she notices where his eyes have gone, her hand unconsciously touches the bruise, almost as if to hide it from him before she gives him a weak smile. He can’t help thinking that it was finally time to leave Arkham Asylum. That bruise…that bruise left him unsettled, and he knew it was time to get back to the real world, _away from_ the vixen in front of him. And clearly, she agreed if the little cat toy was anything to go by. Only Johnny knew about his penchant for hiding dangerous things in innocuous places, and clearly, she’d been to see his right-hand man.

Leering at her the rest of the session, he refuses to engage any longer. There’s no point, really, is there? He’ll be gone by her next shift, and he’ll make sure he stays _far_ the fuck away from her. Well, okay, maybe he’d do one last thing for her once he got out, but that was _it_. He can feel her slip something in his pants pocket as he walks past her on his way out, and she hollers after him to not forget the kitty before stuffing it in that same pocket, concealing whatever it was she’d put in there first.

Getting back to the cell, he pulls the cat and phone out of his pocket once alone and can’t help but smile at the thought that she’d gone out, found Johnny, and convinced the poor sop to let her help break him out. He quickly sends a text that ‘tonight is the night,’ not caring if Johnny has everything planned as of yet. Hopefully it’s a quiet breakout and he can simply slip away like the wind, but knowing Johnny and Panda Man’s love of explosives and heavy firearms, it’s unlikely. Oh, the fun that would ensue! Maybe they’d even get a bit of Bat action during the escape!

\-----

At midnight, he feels the building shake violently before the screeching sound of alarms and gunfire begins, and he cackles at the glorious sound. It was _time_! He can hear the gunfights through the vent system and practically claps when he hears the sounds finally arrive on his floor. Johnny uses a keycard to quickly open the door to his cell and steps aside. He quickly tells his henchman what he wants and heads to the ECT room to wait.

He’s pleasantly surprised at how quickly they’re able to find Jeremiah Arkham and bring him into the room. Grabbing the back of the man’s shirt with one hand, he drags Jeremiah back to the caged off area and accepts the bat he’s handed by a henchman with the other. Throwing Jeremiah bodily away from him as if flinging trash, he lets the idiot stumble away a few extra steps before advancing with menacing slowness. Raising the bat as if he’s preparing to hit the ball out of the park, he takes a swing at Jeremiah’s head and is satisfied when he hears the crack of wood against bone. As he begins to beat Jeremiah’s head into a bloody pulp, he hears shots ringing out close by but is too absorbed in his gleeful destruction and knows that his men will take care of any guards that might have happened to get up to this level. He trusts Johnny’s planning skills implicitly, though he’d never say that out loud to the man.

Once this task is finished, he throws the bat aside and listens to the sounds of struggle in the main room. He can hear Harley’s voice as she argues and growls, and his breath stutters out at the sight of her struggling like a wildcat against Johnny and a henchman in white fatigues. He’s so proud of her that she’s practically spitting in her violence. He _knew_ she had this side to her; he just has to make sure _she_ sees it. He needs her with him, but first, he needs to take away the trappings of society she so clearly clings to.

Giving his men what he knows they need from him, after his moment of contemplation of the hellcat struggling against the gurney, he spreads his arms out wide, shaking them a bit as he growls, “What do we have _here_?”

As soon as she sees him, her body seems to go limp, all of the fight seeping out of her as she looks up at him. “I did everything you said. I helped you,” she says, looking mildly confused. Clearly still not understanding what’s about to happen, he shines the light directly into her face trying to indicate that he will not be relied upon to get her out of this.

“ _You_ helped _me_ …by erasing my miiind,” he tells her, still with the same ridiculous showmanship, curling his fingers next to the sides of his head. “What few…faded…memories,” he punctuates each pause with violent slams of his hands down on either side of her head and is proud when she barely flinches, only closing her eyes briefly against the sound of his rage. Resting his fists on either side of her head for a moment before running a hand through his hair, he continues, “I had. You left me in a black hole of rage and confusion.”

He knows it’s not her fault that Arkham gave him the excessive ECT treatment, but he supposes he _does_ blame her for jumbling his thoughts and making it harder to hold on to the old memories as he made new ones. He _does_ blame her for causing emotions to resurface, that’s for sure!

Finally shaking her head, she argues, “I didn’t _do_ that! I had no hand in taking anything away from you!” Continuing to struggle against the bindings, she tries to kick the henchman holding her legs, and he has to fight the pleasure he feels at her spirit. Even knowing it’s not going to do anything, she gives one more good kick before looking him in the eye and continuing. “And didn’t you once tell me that we aren’t contractually tied down to our memories and thus our rationality?! If anything was taken, you should be _thanking_ me!”

“No,” he says, popping up from his position leaning on the gurney. “Is that the medicine you practice, Doctor _Quinzel_?” Snapping a second purple medical glove to emphasize her name, he looks down at her as she shakes her head.

She gives him a gloriously defiant look as she asks, “What are you gonna do? You gonna kill me Mistah J?”

Leaning down towards her, he puts his ear near her face and asks, “What?” as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. He can feel the need to protect her rising up, and he smacks the side of his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts and proceed as planned. Grabbing the paddles, he makes sure she can see them as he tells her, “Oh, I’m got gonna kill you,” swinging the paddles around in a circular motion, “I’m just gonna hurt you really…really…bad.”

She smiles up at him as she defiantly states, “You think so? Well, I can take it. We won’t break like you seem to think we will.” He’d put money on her shrugging her shoulders if she had the range of motion, but she simply nods her head as if to emphasize her point.

He has no intention of breaking this magnificent fiery creature before him. He simply wants to jumble her up a bit, maybe help combine the personalities if he’s lucky. Well…maybe hurt her just a _smidge_ for the emotions she’s brought up and his inability in being able to deal with them properly. Really, showmanship is important, and anyone who tells you differently was a dirty liar, he couldn’t help thinking. Snapping the leather belt between his hands for emphasis, she readily accepts it and snaps her teeth closed around it.

Stroking the sides of her face, he tells her, “I wouldn’t want you to break those perfect porcelain capped teeth…when the juice hits your _brain_.” Putting his index fingers to either side of his temples, he presses into them briefly, trying to emphasize his point. Without the anesthesia, she’s going to need that leather between her teeth. He can see her follow his hands as he picks the paddles up from the little cart, and there is finally a trace of fear in her eyes at the pain she knows she’s about to experience.

As the juice hits her brain, her body bows with the force of the current, and her teeth clench around the leather. At the way her body bows, he doesn’t let the current run as long as he’d been planning, worrying about doing permanent damage. Thankfully (unfortunately? he’s not sure), she passes out, and he can hear her heavy breathing as her body slumps down to the gurney, her head lolling to the side.

Stepping away from her, he takes the purple trench coat a henchman has prepped for him and begins to walk away. He knows it will be safer for her if he doesn’t take her with them and easier for them if they’re not carrying an unconscious woman. He hears Johnny’s pistol safety click and he turns around. Pursing his lips, he waggles his finger at the henchman. “Leave her, doll. We’re blowing this joint, and she’ll be a good distraction.” If anyone was going to hurt this woman, it would be him. It sure as _shit_ wouldn’t be a henchman. Seeing Johnny hesitate to put the gun away, he puts a hand on the big man’s shoulder and leans in to whisper so the others can’t hear, “You hurt her, I hurt Stacy,” before walking towards the door and freedom.

xxxxxx

Harley is still in a daze as she walks out of the board meeting that she’d just been forced to sit through. Inquisition, more like. They’d wanted to know why she’d been left alive after the electroshock, especially as it had been _the Joker_ that had administered it. Especially because they’d found Arkham’s body in the room with her, though he’d only been recognizable because of his name badge attached to his lab coat. She’d tried to explain that she’d never been anything but polite to Joker and had listened to whatever he’d wanted to talk about instead of forcing topics on him. She’d never forced excessive meds to dull his mind or prescribed ECT as the other doctors before her had. She wasn’t sure they believed her, but they didn’t have much choice. She’d been “traumatized,” after all.

How laughable!

She’d woken on that gurney, still tied down, her temples throbbing, and confused at what the fuck had just happened. She could hear the others chittering in her head, but they were weirdly indistinct, as if she was hearing them through cotton. She’d been crying when the SWAT team had come into the room, rifles drawn, ready for a firefight. They’d been yelling demands, but she hadn’t been able to understand them and had only been able to shake her head, trying to stop her crying. After they’d realized she was a _doctor_ at the asylum and had just been “brutalized,” they’d treated her with kid gloves. She was told that there had been a breakout, that Joker had escaped and had let the patients loose throughout the asylum. She was lucky they’d found her, she was told. They had, in fact, only been alerted to her possible presence by the bloody HAHAHA fingerpainted on the closed door.

Days later, her head still throbbed from the pain of the unanesthetized ECT treatment, and even _Guy_ was treating her with kid gloves as if any major movement around her would set off a crying jag. In his defense, she supposed that she _had_ been crying a good deal more than usual, and she let him think that it was because of the “psychological trauma” of being abused by a patient and almost dying.

Shaking her head after that ridiculous meeting, she sighs, having absolutely _no_ idea what she was going to do with over a month of forced paid leave. How _boring_ was life about to get?!

_The End?_

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? Did you feel like poor Joker was confused as fuck by the end, incapable of truly making up his mind? I felt like he really went back and forth a LOT in this story, but of course, he MUST! He'd like to remind you that he is an IDEA, not something to be loved, and sure as shit not someone who LOVES!
> 
> As always, please let me know what you thought - kudos and comments go a long way!  
> Any kind of feedback is appreciated, even if it's not great! You can always send me an email as well if you're nervous about posting here!


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